He felt reassured. After all, what reason had he for alarm? What had he, as far as Morelli was concerned, to go upon? Nothing at all; merely some vague words from Punch. The boy was perfectly all right. Besides, at any rate, he wasn’t a fool. He knew what he was about, he could deal with Morelli, if it came to that.
He drank another whisky-and-soda and regarded the mirror. It was funny the way that it reflected that corner of the square, so that without looking at all out of the window you could see figures moving, black and grey, and then suddenly a white gleaming bit of pavement where the light fell. His head became undoubtedly confused, because he fancied that he saw other things in the mirror. He thought that the crowd in the square divided into lines. Some one appeared, dancing, a man with a peaked cap, dancing and playing a pipe; and the man—how odd it was!—the man was Morelli! And suddenly he turned and danced down the lines of the people, still piping, back the way that he had come, and all the people, dancing, followed him! They passed through the mirror, dancing, and he seemed to recognise people that he knew. Why, of course! There was Tony, and then Janet Morelli and Lady Gale, Mrs. Lester, Alice Du Cane; and how absurd they looked! There was himself and Mrs. Maradick! The scene faded. He pulled himself up with a jerk, to find that he was nodding, nearly asleep; the idea of the music had not been entirely a dream, however, for a band had gathered underneath the window. In the uncertain light they looked strangely fantastic, so that you saw a brass trumpet without a man behind it, and then again a man with his lips pressed blowing, but his trumpet fading into darkness.
The crowd had gathered round and there was a great deal of noise; but it was mostly inarticulate, and, to some extent, quarrelsome. Maradick caught the old man’s voice somewhere in the darkness quavering “If ’e calls my old woman names then I’ll call ’is old woman . . .” It trailed off, drowned in the strains of “Auld Lang Syne,” with which the band, somewhat mistakenly, had commenced.
The time was erratic; the band too, it seemed, had been drinking, even now he could see that they had mugs at their sides and one or two of them were trying to combine drink and music.
One little man with an enormous trumpet danced, at times, a few steps, producing a long quivering note from his instrument.
The crowd had made a little clearing opposite the window, for an old man with a battered bowler very much on one side of his head was dancing solemnly with a weary, melancholy face, his old trembling legs bent double.
Maradick felt suddenly sick of it all. He turned back from the window and faced the mirror. He was unutterably tired, and miserable, wretchedly miserable. He had broken faith with everybody. He was no use to anyone; he had deceived his wife, Lady Gale, Tony, Mrs. Lester, everybody. A load of depression, like a black cloud, swung down upon him. He hated the band and the drunken crowd; he hated the place, because it seemed partly responsible for what had happened to him; but above all he hated himself for what he had done.
Then suddenly he looked up and saw a strange thing. He had pulled down the window, and the strains of the band came very faintly through; the room was strangely silent. The mirror shone very clearly, because the moon was hanging across the roofs on the opposite side of the square. The corner of the street shone like glass. Nearly all the crowd had moved towards the band, so that that part of the square was deserted.
Only one man moved across it. He was coming with a curious movement; he ran for a few steps and then walked and then ran again. Maradick knew at once that it was Tony. He did not know why he was so certain, but as he saw him in the mirror he was quite sure. He felt no surprise. It was almost as though he had been expecting him. He got up at once from his chair and went down the stairs; something was the matter with Tony. He saw the waiter in the hall, and he told him that he was coming back; then he crossed the square.
Tony was coming with his head down, stumbling as though he were drunk. He almost fell into Maradick’s arms. He looked up.